


Their Roof the Cloudy Sky

by semicolonsonfire



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, au because I'm in denial and can't deal, dale and erebor are not friends, defs some trauma happening from botfa, familial relationships are hard, fili has to work through some stuff, might take a while for the romance to happen, politics are happening, post-BotFA, ptsd maybe?, sigrid and tauriel are bffs, sigrid takes no shit, the dwarves were kind of shitty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-17 22:33:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3546182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/semicolonsonfire/pseuds/semicolonsonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"With one last glance at the forest behind her and the lake to her side, Sigrid urged her horse forward. Fear had driven her decisions for far too long, and she was determined to not let it rule her any longer."</p><p>Post-BOTFA and AU where ~everyone lives~ because I'm in denial.</p><p>As Dale rebuilds, so does the Lady Sigrid. After a year-long absence, she returns to a city she barely recognizes, a sister who will barely look at her, and a tenuous harmony with Erebor that can barely be maintained. Fili, crown prince of Erebor is sent to Dale by his uncle to build their diplomatic relationship and turn the shaky peace that envelops the region into continued prosperity for both dwarves and men.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fic I've written in a long, long while, and I'm so excited! I've fallen hard for Fili/Sigrid, and I believe that there's never enough of them in the fandom. This might be a bit of a slow burn for a while, as I want to take a different perspective on the post-BOTFA events than is generally taken - something more dark, where people are damaged and hope is still hard to come by.
> 
> Any comments - positive or constructive - are absolutely appreciated <3

Although it might’ve been faster, Sigrid refused to take a boat. A number of years had passed since the dragon’s attack on Esgaroth, but being on water still made her feel uneasy. It made her feel a traitor, in a way; she had spent her first sixteen years living and working on the water without a fear. It had lulled her to sleep on sleepless nights, cooled her down in the hot summer heat. In the water she saw home and life; now, though, she could only see fire and death.   
  
The journey wasn’t laborious, taking only a few hours at most, and with Tauriel by her side Sigrid had little to worry about. The forest, though, still made her uneasy. Water. Wide open spaces. Closed in spaces. Darkness. The nightmares came less frequently than they had before, but certain things – like this forest – would often bring them back.  
  
One year ago, nearly to the day, Sigrid left the Kingdom of Dale for the Woodland Realm. It had taken some months to convince her father of the move; she hadn’t _wanted_ to leave, but after Tauriel had suggested it Sigrid could think of little else.

 

* * *

 

_“But why do you want to leave me?” Tilda asked as she cuddled into her sister’s warm side. Spring was nearly upon Dale, but the chill of winter lingered in the air. There was plenty of space in their quarters – their father was the king, after all – but after all the things that had come to pass, the sisters preferred to stay together._

_Sigrid sighed in frustration. She had spent the entire day explaining the situation to her younger sister. “I know you’re upset, Tilda, but I’m not leaving_ you. _”_

_Although Sigrid couldn’t see, Tilda rolled her eyes. “Are you leaving?”_

_“Well,” Sigrid responded. “Yes.”_

_“Are you leaving_ with me _?”_

_Sigrid hesitated, knowing where Tilda was going with her line of inquiry. “…No, Tilda. I’m not. I’m not leaving –”_

_“–Because of me, I know. Da wants you to… ‘build diplomatic relations’ or something. I know.”_

_Sigrid couldn’t help but giggle at her sister’s imitation of their father. It was true; at least part of the reason Bard had agreed to send his oldest daughter to the Woodland Realm was to help enhance the relationship between the people of Dale and the elves such a short distance away. Dealings after the Battle of Five Armies could have been considered cool, at best, and while the Elven King had sent aid to Dale in form of helping hands, supplies, and food, communication between the two races was limited. Thranduil Oropherion was as aloof and unreachable as always._

_There was another reason, though, that Sigrid was loath to tell her sister. The nightmares had been getting worse. The fear that gripped her heart every time she heard the clashing of swords or the intermittent sounds that would make their way from Erebor was becoming unbearable. She kept that fear inside, buried deep beneath the resilient exterior she presented to the world around. She was the Princess of Dale: there was no place for fear or weakness._

_“I’ll be back, Tilda. And you can come visit me,” Sigrid whispered into her sister’s hair. Tilda curled even closer to her sister in response. “You can see the elves,”_

_“Mmmhmm,” Tilda muttered._

_“And by the time you visit, I’ll know my way around the Woodland Realm and can show you all of the discoveries I’ve made.”_

_“Mmmhmm.”_

_“And Tauriel will be there,” Sigrid continued._

_Tilda smiled against her sister’s neck. “I like Tauriel.”_

_Moments passed and silence once again engulfed the room. Sigrid was drifting off to sleep when Tilda spoke again. “What will I do without you?”_

_“You’ll do what you normally do, silly. Take your lessons, help Da, keep yourself out of trouble.”_

_“But,” Tilda hesitated. “You’ve never left me alone before.”_

_Sigrid rolled away from her sister and onto her back. This was the part of leaving that Sigrid had dreaded. Tilda was right; she hadn’t been without Sigrid before, at least for not any longer than a few hours. And then Sigrid, she hadn’t been without her younger sister since Tilda was brought into the world, kicking and screaming. “You’ve never left me alone either.”_

_Then Tilda said something that had broken her heart, nearly convincing her to never leave her home in Dale. “But I’ve never wanted to.”_

 

* * *

 

“Tauriel,” Sigrid called to the elf-maiden riding slightly ahead. “Would you mind if we stopped here a moment?”

 In response Tauriel slowed her horse to a stop which allowing Sigrid to catch up. “Are you okay?” Tauriel asked, searching her friend’s face with concern. “You look like you’re about to be sick.”

 Sigrid nodded in response, her gaze fixed on the stone city off in the distance. This was the first she’d seen of Dale in an entire year. Her family – her father, her sister, her brother – were somewhere in the maze of streets that made up the city. Given the time of day, Sigrid expected that they would soon be sitting down to dinner. Bain will have just washed up after finishing his training for the day, while her father, she suspected, would be rushing from an important meeting with some important delegates or diplomats or councilmembers. A year ago, Tilda’s schedule had changed day-by-day to suit her moods, so Sigrid couldn’t even begin to guess where her sister will have been.

They’d exchanged letters, of course, and Sigrid kept a journal of her thoughts so Tilda could learn all about the time she’d spent with the elves, but Sigrid had seen none of her family throughout her time in the Woodland Realm. They had wanted to visit, of course, but a fire had broken out in Dale, destroying the newly-built market. Soon after, an illness spread throughout the city, confining its residents indoors. While it wasn’t a deadly virus, it had been enough to spread panic and force her family to delay any trips – however short – out of Dale.

In every letter Tilda had begged and begged to visit the Woodland Realm, but in every response Sigrid was forced to remind her sister that she wasn’t allowed to travel alone. Every suggestion Tilda put forward was – in her eyes – shot down by excuses. No, Tauriel couldn’t come pick her up because she was unable to take leave from her post as captain of the Elven Guard. No, Sigrid was not able to convince their father to ignore his duties so they could come visit. No, they were not going to hire a guard to travel with Tilda to Mirkwood.

They had all seemed like legitimate responses, but as time went on Sigrid questioned whether she was in fact doing enough for her younger sister. Sigrid had spent so much of her life taking care of others that prior to her year away, she was not in the habit of taking care of herself. It wasn’t selfishness, she told herself. It was healing. She wasn’t sure Tilda would see it as such, though.

“Are you ready?” Tauriel asked quietly, unsure of what was keeping Sigrid from moving forward.

Sigrid tore her eyes away from Dale and looked toward her friend. “No,” she replied, with a small half smile while sitting straight in the saddle, “but I’m not sure if I ever will be.”

With one last glance at the forest behind her and the lake to her side, Sigrid urged her horse forward. Fear had driven her decisions for far too long, and she was determined to not let it rule her any longer, even if that meant facing a sister who no longer loved her as she had before.


	2. Return to Dale

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Sigrid returns to her family and doesn't quite know what to expect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately it's unlikely that updates will be this frequent all the time! I don't expect it to be like months between updates, but as a grad student who has classes, a full time placement, and a job, things get busy sometimes. I'll make an active effort, though, to write at least one chapter a week. Crossing my fingers that that's doable!

Sigrid could hear the muffled voice of her father from behind the large dining room doors. In the year since she had been gone, the household had gone through very few changes. The window coverings were sparse, the furniture even sparser; only things that were considered necessary - of which there were very few (in the sitting room in which she was standing, for example, there were a few chairs of mismatched shapes and sizes, along with a small side table that could only a cup or two and a small vase of colourful wildflowers that someone must have recently picked) - furnished the rooms.

Her home was in stark contrast to the streets of Dale. Sigrid couldn't help but stare in surprise at the people crowding the shops that lined the streets as she’d walked through the market. Although the snow had just melted only days earlier, lovers walked hand in hand down shadowed pathways, while children chased after one another, the sounds of their laughter filing the evening air. A tired-looking mother holding on tightly to her wiggling, impatient child was winding through the maze of bodies, while a shopkeeper to Sigrid's left turned her sign from "open" to "closed" while shooing a family of five out of her store. The vibrancy that she saw now had not existed before she left; there was little evidence that a mere three years earlier, the city had seen a fierce battle following a two hundred year period of abandonment. 

Sigrid and Tauriel had both decided days earlier that it would be best for Tauriel to return to Mirkwood immediately following the journey to Dale; Sigrid wasn't certain of the reception that she was likely to receive by her family, and Tauriel was required to return to her post as Captain of the Guard as quickly as possible. They parted just outside of the city, when the sun was beginning to set; purples, pinks, and oranges had just begun painting themselves across the cloudless sky.

"Your belongings will be delivered tomorrow morning," Tauriel stated as she reached out to try to flatten Sigrid's windswept hair. "And don't forget to write as soon as you're able."

"Of course," Sigrid said half-heartedly, avoiding her friend's eyes. Goodbyes were always difficult. "Have a safe ride back." She turned to the horse she had ridden from Mirkwood and patted his mane. Having grown up on a lake, Sigrid had little experience with horses and was still surprised at the coarseness of their fur; she always expected them to be so much softer than they were.

"Of course", Tauriel echoed. She gathered Sigrid into her arms the best she could while still holding onto the white mare standing beside her, pressing her cheek into Sigrid’s hair. Prior to letting go Tauriel whispered something that Sigrid wasn’t quite able to hear, but before Sigrid could ask for clarification Tauriel was out of reach and on her mare. The moment had passed.

Sigrid reached up and handed Tauriel the reins of the horse she’d ridden from Mirkwood, eyes searching for signs of encouragement. “You’ll be fine”.

Sigrid laughed sarcastically. “I’m glad one of us thinks so.”

One last smile of support, and Tauriel and the two horses were gone, leaving Sigrid standing alone at the gates to Dale. She looked beyond the gates to see the familiar cobblestone streets she last saw a year earlier, and, without hesitation (for if she hesitated, Sigrid feared that she turn around and run right back to the Woodland Realm), passed through to join the evening crowd on the other side.

Sigrid would periodically draw her scarf - the one the she had worn on the day of their escape from the dragon - more tightly around her shoulders. It wasn't so much to keep out the chill of the early spring, but to keep in the courage that she feared would leave her if she gave it the opportunity.

While the walk wasn’t long, it seemed like in no time at all Sigrid arrived at the newly-forged iron gates that separated the king from his daughter. Although she knew - logically - that her father was king and that he needed protection, she hadn't expected to see the big, black bars that stood so forebodingly in her way. Standing in front of the gates, arms crossed with her jaw clenched in frustration, Sigrid scanned them and the surrounding walls for a way in; she had no key and there were no guards, leaving her stuck on the outside of her own home

"Oi - you girl! Standin' in front o' the kings gates like that. Scamper off, will you?” A booming voice called from behind her.

Sigrid turned quickly, surprised, and found herself nearly face to face – or, more accurately, face to chest – with a bear of a man who looked ready to carry her away from the gates if necessary.

She stuttered, attempting to explain that she was, in fact, the Princess and wanted to get into her house, but before even one word left her mouth, the man took another step toward her and lowered his voice. “You need to be a’ headin’ off now, girl.”

Arms still crossed, Sigrid looked carefully at the man in front of her. Bearded and tall, it was nearly like someone had taken a dwarf and stretched it out until it was six feet tall. He was dressed in a blue tunic, a sword on one hip and keys on the other. His eyes bore threateningly into hers.

“Might you be a guard?” Sigrid asked politely while uncrossing her arms and putting on the noblest airs she could muster.

“Nnn,” he muttered noncommittally. At his first glance, she’d simply been another commoner, loitering around the King’s gates waiting to catch sight of Bard or his children; her hair was knotted and wild, her clothes obviously those of a traveller – with no proper dress she looked like a wandering she-elf, all leather and green and wind-burnt. But then, to his surprise, her demeanor had changed. She was no longer a child of the forest, but a lady of Dale that he recognized from a portrait in the King’s study. “Lady Sigrid?”

She smiled and curtsied. “Indeed. I’d like to see my father, if you please.”

“O’ course,” the guard said, bowing low. He hoped the bow covered the blush that spread across his face at not recognizing the princess. He’d seen her in person only once, the day she left for Mirkwood the previous year, but he’d seen her portrait nearly every day since then. “Stig, at your service, m’lady.”

“These gates weren’t here when I left. When were they installed?” Sigrid asked, not entirely concerned with the installation but wishing to make conversation while Stig opened them.

“Mmm, right after you left, m’lady. Some little bastards snuck into the ‘ouse on a dare. Caught ‘em red handed goin’ down to the kitchen. Captain o’ the guard decided to install ‘em the next day,” Stig explained, letting Sigrid into the grounds. Before closing the heavy gates behind her, he held out his large, callused hand for her to take. “Yer da will be right pleased that you’re back, m’lady.”

She took his hand in hers and shook it. “Thank you for your help, master Stig. I hope to see you soon.”

With a nod of his giant, hairy head, Stig locked the gates and walked toward the market, soon out of sight in the dusk that surrounded them.

Sigrid seemed to float from the yard to the door to the sitting room to the dining room door. Somehow she had moved from there to here, but if interrogated, she would never have been able to tell you how. With the sun nearly set, the darkness of the sitting room began to engulf her, making the light emanating from underneath the door seem inviting. Sigrid moved her hand to the doorknob, not knowing whether or not she was prepared for what lay on the other side. Tilda laughed as cutlery scraped at the plates.

Taking a deep breath, Sigrid pushed the door open and stepped into the light of the dining room. The talking stopped. Cutlery fell. Sigrid looked up at her family, a shy smile on her face. Her father, brother, and sister looked at her, mouths agape, absolutely silent.

“Sigrid!” Bane cheered in surprise.

Before she could even register the mood of the room, Bard stood in front of her. Without hesitation he drew Sigrid tightly into his arms.

“Da!”

A few moments passed and Bard stepped back, a toothy grin plastered on his face. “Why didn’t you tell us you were coming home?”

Sigrid’s smile faltered as she replied. “I… I wanted it to be a surprise.” While it wasn’t entirely a lie, although the more truthful response would’ve been something to the effect of “I didn’t know if I would actually come back and I didn’t want to make a promise I might break”.

“Well come sit down! I’ll go get you a plate from the kitchen.” Bard turned swiftly and jogged toward a door on the other end of the room. He left, leaving the room heavy with silence. Sigrid avoided looking at her siblings as she took her seat across from Tilda.

“How are you doing, Sigrid?” Bain asked. She looked to her left, where her brother sat looking genuinely curious. Well, that meant that two out of three members of her family weren’t upset with her. She still didn’t dare look at Tilda.

“I’m doing well, thanks,” Sigrid replied, playing nervously with the hem of her tunic. “So much has changed in Dale! The walk here from the gates was so different –”

“Of course it was,” Tilda interrupted, venom dripping from her voice. “You were gone for a year. Did you expect everything to be the same upon your return?”

Sigrid looked down, ashamed. Her eyes darted to Bain on her left, her father’s empty chair to her right, a random painting of a pot of sunflowers behind Tilda. Finally, her hazel eyes met those of her sister. “No, of course not, I –”

Tilda pushed her plate away. “I’m done my dinner. Bain, tell Da I’ve gone to bed.” Shestood up aggressively from the table, knocking over her chair while doing so. The hatred in Tilda’s eyes was difficult to ignore. “Tell him I have a headache and I’m not to be bothered.”

Sigrid followed her sister’s movement as she stomped around the table to the door. Tilda looked back once in disgust but quickly turned her head as she opened the door. It slammed as she left the room.

Sigrid felt as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs. She’d expected Tilda to be upset, but it hurt so much more than she’d imagined. Bain tried to catch her eye and offer a supportive smile, but Sigrid’s eyes were locked on the chair where he sister had, twenty seconds earlier, resided.

Bard re-entered the room, plate and glass of water in hand, to only two of his children, an empty chair lying on the grown, and an awkward, stony silence. He stood behind his eldest daughter and placed the glass and plate full of food in front of her. Before returning to his own seat, he squeezed her shoulders in support.

Clearing her throat of the lump that had settled there, Sigrid broke the silence. “Da, Tilda said that she was off to her room for the night.”

“Yeah,” Bain added, “she has a headache.”

Bard knew of Tilda’s anger toward her sister and was, unfortunately, not surprised at her reaction. He nodded.

The room was silent once again, save for the sounds of eating. Sigrid picked up her fork and took a mouthful of the food on her plate; she nearly died. The food in the Woodland Realm had never been bad, but it was never what she wanted. It always left something to be desired. _This_ is what she’d wanted. Bread. Fish. Carrots. Eaten around a table with her family. Her _family_.

“So Sigrid,” Bain asked after deciding the silence had gone on long enough. “How was living with the elves? Was it as awful as I think it would be?”

Having just taken a drink of water, Sigrid snorted, nearly choking before being able to swallow. The look on her face must’ve been funny, because – after taking one look at his sister – Bain’s laughter echoed throughout the room. Sigrid joined in, not quite knowing what she was laughing at, simply basking in the presence of the family she’d missed so much.

The laughter reverberated out of the dining room and down the halls, reaching Tilda’s room a mere few milliseconds later. She sat on the bench beside her window and stared at the mountain in the distance. Tears welled up in her eyes at the sound of the laughter, and she hastily tried to brush them away with the back of her hands. 

Her sister was back, but all Tilda wanted to do now was leave.


	3. Market Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Sigrid goes to the market and finds her return home wanting.

Weeks passed as Sigrid once again became accustomed to her place as the Princess of Dale. The sun set later in the sky, flowers began to bloom, and winter became but a distant memory. The monotony of her daily life, however, was beginning to wear on her. While in the Woodland Realm, Sigrid could mostly do what she pleased. The surrounding forests were off-limits, of course, due to the evil that frequently lurked in Mirkwood, but within the gates themselves Sigrid was comparatively free. She had few duties to attend to, and what few she did have were easy and enjoyable. “Tonight you’ll be having dinner with the King, Lady Sigrid,” and “please be sure to attend this festival. Wear your best!” Easy and enjoyable.

When not spending time with Tauriel, for Tauriel had her own duties to deal with, Sigrid would spend time reading. Books had never done well on the Lake and were a precious commodity. They could fall into the water, they would get musty, they would mold. Then, residing in a kingdom with books upon books for her to devour, Sigrid could barely resist.

Back in Dale, however, Sigrid very quickly had to resume being a princess. She could no longer curl up in a chair and be taken to different places and times through ink on a page whenever she pleased. She had an image to uphold, and she was determined to uphold it without error or difficulty.

Beyond the words she’d said at dinner the first night, Tilda had said not a peep to Sigrid, nor had she even acknowledged her existence. If Sigrid entered a room where Tilda was, Tilda would immediately turn to leave. The exception, however, was dinner; under king’s orders, the family would eat together every night no matter how awkward it was for everyone involved. Bard and Bain learned very quickly – the second evening, in fact – that it would be near impossible to get Tilda to even glance toward her sister. It took Sigrid a bit longer, for she held out hope that time would lessen Tilda’s anger, but after a week of trying to engage she abandoned that hope.

 

* * *

 

Market day was a day that Sigrid looked forward to every week. It was an excuse to get out of the house and interact with the people of Dale in a more authentic way; although she frequently went for walks through the city, people – even those she had known in Lake-town – tended to avoid her. Sigrid was a lady now, her place was no longer amongst the commoners – or so they would think as she walked past. That’s not to say the citizens of Dale didn’t like the Lady Sigrid – they thought her to be fair and beautiful and kind, but those people she’d had tea with so often suddenly felt as though they were beneath her. It was nothing she had done and there was little she could do to rectify the situation; it was simply the unfortunate reality of her new station in life, and it was one Sigrid found incredibly lonely.

Market day, though. Like everyone else, Sigrid needed things. Meat, vegetables, fruit, cloth, a new bow for Bain, a small trinket for Tilda. Shopping made her feel almost normal; crowds parted as she walked past and Stig tracked her every move, but at least she was free to talk to who she pleased. It was forced interaction, yes, but it was interaction that she so desperately craved.

Each week Sigrid volunteered to go the market. She collected lists from the household staff and her family and made her way through the rebuilt streets with a smile on her face. She made sure to wear her most plain dress (though it was not as though she had a closet full of fancy dresses) and walk with no pretention, channelling as much old Lake-town Sigrid as she was able to. It remained the highlight of her return to Dale.

 

* * *

 

 

“Did you ordermy bow?” Bain asked as Sigrid walked through the study to reach her father’s private offices. Bain was sitting with his tutor, a new necessity as crown prince. Various maps were strewn across the desk in front of him for the day’s lessons, but Bain seemed to have little interest in them. Leaning back on his chair with his arms crossed, his body language just screamed ‘I don’t want to be here’. Holgeir, the tutor, looked nearly ready to strangle his student. Patience, Sigrid had learnt over the previous weeks, was not in his blood.

“Of course I did. I gave him the measurements just like you asked,” Sigrid replied.

Bain grinned in response, but before he could reply Sigrid cut him off. “You should get back to work. Is Da in his office?” Holgeir looked at her, face full of appreciation for her attempt to get her brother back on track with his studies.

“Should be,” Bain replied, his grin fading to a look of annoyance. It was evident that he didn’t feel the need to return to his studies, but he leaned his chair forward and stared at the map directly in front of him, likely hoping that he could just learn his lessons by osmosis.

As Sigrid walked past her brother towards her father’s office, she give Bain a supportive smile which he did not see since he was staring, glassy-eyed, down at the desk.

“Da?” Sigrid inquired as she pushed on the slightly open door. Bard was seated at his desk in the centre of the room looking intently at what appeared to be a letter he held in his hands. Upon hearing his daughter’s entrance, he looked up and smiled, inviting her into the room.

“Market day was good?” he asked, setting down the paper so he could talk to Sigrid properly. She closed the door behind her.

Each week the conversation began the same way. Sigrid would come into her father’s office, he would ask about the market, she would respond with a noncommittal “it was fine”; the purpose of these meetings was never to talk about the market – those ordinary topics of conversation were left for dinner. They would then quickly move on to more important business, like that of ruling Dale. Although she would never rule Dale herself, Bard appreciated Sigrid’s insight into political matters and would often wait to discuss things with Sigrid before making decisions. It’s not that he was unable to make those decisions, for Bard was a perfectly capable and just king, it was simply that he felt it was important to have the input of someone he trusted implicitly; whom else could he trust more implicitly than his eldest daughter?

Sigrid entered the room fully and flopped down into an armchair near the door. “It was fine.” Maroon and just perfectly squishy, this armchair was her favourite; if she could have replicated it exactly and put it in every room of the house, she would have done it without question. She curled her feet underneath her, not sitting in the most lady-like position (and not caring, either), ready to discuss politics with her father.

“What’s that you’re reading, Da?” Sigrid asked, nodding toward the paper Bard had placed on the desk upon her arrival.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair and dreading Sigrid’s response. “A letter from Erebor.”

Sigrid was taken aback. She hadn’t heard him talk of Erebor since returning to Dale, and she strongly felt that that was the way the world should continue to be. “Erebor? What do the dwarves want this time? Haven’t we already given them enough? Our town, our homes, our _lives_?”

“I know you’re not fond of them –”

“Not fond, Da?” Sigrid’s voice started to shake. “That’s putting it a bit lightly, don’t you think?” Sigrid felt her throat begin to close as her body begin to vibrate. Breathing became difficult, and tears welled in her eyes. “We welcomed them into our _home_ Da. The home that – because of them – was _destroyed_.” She choked on the last word.

“It’s been three years, Sigrid…” Bard trailed off, his brown eyes searching her grey ones for any sign of understanding. He could only see hurt.

 “And it can continue to be longer, Da! Forever, for all I care.” Sigrid uncurled her legs and sat forward in the chair, her hands ghostly white from gripping the arms so tightly. “I cannot forgive those _dwarves_ ”, she spat the word, as if it was unworthy to even pass her lips. She stood up, unable to sit in the same room with her father any longer. “And I refuse to forget, even if you seem to have done so.”

Sigrid turned and walked stiffly out the door, slamming it behind her. She didn’t even flinch as Bard tried to call her back.

Bard closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands, unable to comprehend what had just happened. The conversation had barely lasted two minutes before she stormed out of the room.  He had known that Sigrid harboured an unspoken dislike of the dwarves – she wouldn’t even look towards Erebor – but he hadn’t quite understood the depth of her hatred. He so desperately wanted to make her see that it wasn’t a matter of forgiveness or forgetting, that instead it was a matter of survival. Erebor and Dale, two realms so close together, needed to be united if not in force and power, then at least in shaky peace.

The King’s eyes opened slowly and read the letter once again, word by word. It was short, only a few sentences in response to a previous letter Bard had written. It wasn’t even properly addressed.

_We seem to have reached an agreement. I will send my nephews to work out the finer details. Expect their arrival in a week’s time. I anticipate that they will not be left wanting throughout their stay._

_\- Thorin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally getting somewhere, yay! Sorry for all of the build-up, I just really enjoy Sigrid :P


	4. Boulders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Fili and Kili make their way to Dale.

“How long do you think we’ll have to stay in Dale?” Kìli asked his brother as they walked away from the mountain, making their way towards Dale. Dwalin had urged them to ride to Dale, but Fìli insisted upon walking for a reason unknown to either Dwalin or Kìli. Kìli had assumed that his brother was just being strange, wanting time out in the fresh spring air amongst the rocks and flowers and critters and things. He didn’t bother questioning. At least the weather was agreeable enough; the early morning sun shone, casting their shadows over the rarely-used cobblestone path that connected the mountain of Dwarves to the city of Men.

Fìli’s eyes were locked on the city ahead. Somewhere in his mind recognized that his brother had spoken, but it took a few seconds before the words had made themselves clear. “I’m not entirely sure. Uncle didn’t say,” Fìli replied, still looking ahead in concentration. “It could only be a day or two, or it could be slightly longer. I imagine it’ll depend on how quickly we can work through the conditions Bard and Thorin discussed.”

While Fìli had been present for many of Thorin’s council meetings, seeing as he was crown prince, Kìli was often not required to attend – and what Kìli wasn’t required to attend, he chose to not attend. Kìli wasn’t one for politics; his mother frequently insisted that he would be better off taking more interest in the running of the mountain, but he vastly preferred the company of the forges and the presence of his kin.

The relative silence of their short was driving Kìli mad. He and his brother were rarely this quiet, but Fìli seemed nearly entirely unable to hold a conversation. “Tauriel wrote. She’s going to try to visit while we’re in Dale.

“Mmm”, Fìli replied noncommittally. “Uncle wouldn’t like that.”

Although Fìli wasn’t paying much attention, Kìli shrugged. “No, I imagine he wouldn’t.” More silence. His attempt at conversation had evidently failed. Instead, Kìli tried to count the number of boulders they passed in order to amuse himself; of course he first had to ask himself:  _what IS a boulder? How big must a rock be before it qualifies?_ After running through a few possibilities in his mind (bigger than his head? There were millions of those. Bigger than his chest? How about bigger than his chest and Fìli’s put together?) Kìli felt nearly ready to tip over in sheer boredom. He must’ve let out an audible groan, because Fìli finally looked his way for the first time since leaving Erebor a mere five minutes earlier.

“It’s a twenty minute walk,” Fìli rolled his eyes. “It’s not torture.”

Kìli returned the eye roll and looked at his brother in annoyance. “It is when all you’re doing is looking broodily off into the distance.” Fìli had always been the more serious of the two brothers, but since officially becoming the Crown Prince of the mountain, Kìli had found the playful, joking part of his brother to be severely lacking. “You look like you’re walking to your execution. We’re going to Dale. To work on creating a peace treaty, nonetheless. That’s like the _opposite_ of an execution, I’d think.”

Fìli’s pace slowed slightly, and then stopped. Kìli stopped a number of paces in front of his brother and turned back around, confused.

After a few moments of opening and closing his mouth and looking as though he was trying to find the right words, Fìli spoke, his voice softer than usual. “Don’t you worry about how they’ll react to us?” 

Since the end of the Battle of Five Armies, there had been very little contact between Erebor and Dale. Although technically both sides had won, the Men of Dale felt their physical losses deeply. Not only had more Men perished in battle, the number left dead due to the dragon was higher than they’d initially imagined. The new king Bard felt an apology was due and when none came, Dale closed their gates to the Dwarves, preferring to look to the Elves for aid and trade.

If he were being honest, Kìli would have admitted that he hadn’t even begun to consider that Bard and his family would treat he and Fìli any differently than they had after the Company climbed up through their toilet over three years earlier. The realization that past events would very likely have hardened Bard and his children against them came as a surprise, although he wasn’t quite sure why.

When Kìli didn’t answer, Fìli continued. “I suspect our welcome won’t be as warm as it was the first time.”

Kìli choked back a laugh, trying to leave his face as blank as he could. “Seriously, brother? This is why we walked instead of taking the ponies, so you could procrastinate for another _twenty minutes_ because you’re worried they won’t _like_ us? When have you ever been concerned about being _liked_?”

Fìli looked down, ashamed. His mane of gold hair fell in front of his face, shielding him from Kìli’s incredulous stare. He breathed deeply once, hardening his features as he did so, and raised his head so his blue eyes could meet his brother’s brown ones. With a confidence and strength that he hadn’t had before, Fìli ignored Kìli’s jabs and started walking again.

“They’ll be waiting,” Fìli called back as passed his brother and continued the walk toward Dale.

 

* * *

 

“You chose to walk, I see,” Bard commented as Fìli and Kìli approached the gates.

Fìli nodded in response, looking up toward the blue, cloudless sky. “We did. We couldn’t let the beautiful weather go to waste.”

As Fìli and Bard exchanged the pleasantries required of them as royalty, Kìli stood quietly and made an attempt to surreptitiously examine the children he’d not seen for years. Of course they’d grown, but Kìli was still easily able to recognize them standing before him.

Bain had grown nearly as tall as his father but hadn’t quite filled out yet, leaving him lean and lanky. His brown hair was cleanly cut, likely done that very morning in preparation for their arrival, although he looked uncomfortable in a finely tailored jacket and trousers.

Tilda looked quite a lot like the little girl he’d last seen on the shore of Long Lake, but slightly taller. There was a glint in her eye, however, that told Kìli that her fierceness had not subdued over time. He predicted that it would be easiest to turn Tilda in their – the dwarves – favour, remembering her reaction to their entrance: “will they bring us luck?”

Finally, the Lady Sigrid. Tales of her beauty had made it to the mountain from travellers who had seen her on their way, but Kìli saw very little of the storied beauty. Instead, he saw a woman who looked miserable, as though she’d rather be sharing tea with Smaug than standing at her city’s gates to greet them. Upon closer (slightly less surreptitious) inspection, Kìli realized that it was not simply unhappiness he was seeing in the Lady’s face; her jaw, like her hands in fists at her side, was clenched, and fire burned in her eyes. She was angry. She wasn’t even making an attempt to hide her disdain. Kìli recognized that the fear that Fìli had revealed along the way might not have been as unwarranted as he had thought.

After what seemed like an eternity for Kìli and, Kìli suspected, Bard’s children, Fìli and Bard finally shook hands. “Let’s hope that we,” Bard said as he led the group away from the gates and into the city, “can take this opportunity to usher in a new age of peace, strength, and shared prosperity for all of our people.”

Fìli agreed, but as Kìli walked behind his brother he could only picture Sigrid’s face and imagine that the task his uncle had set him would be rather more difficult than he’d expected.


	5. Darkness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Sigrid and Fìli are cold on a terrace and dinner doesn't go as well as it could have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a little bit longer to write! I'm a grad student and it's the end of my semester, so things have gotten kind of busy. I'll try to keep a weekly updated schedule to the best of my abilities. Thank you for all of the reviews, comments, and support everyone <3

The night was dark. Neither moon nor stars lit the blackness that surrounded Sigrid, for the clouds covered every ounce of light that may have reached her. Although winter had faded and Dale was well into spring, the nights often remained chilly, and on this night, a bitter cold wind blew in from the North.  Sigrid rubbed her arms, trying to stay warm, for the sleeves of her dress did little to block the cold. She hadn’t thought to bring a shawl with her, and even if she had, the wind would have done its best to whip it from her shoulders.

Her eyes scanned the darkness ahead of her as if searching for something that could not be seen. After a moment she took a breath and closed her eyes, picturing the scene as she would see it in the daylight: below her would be a small garden, overgrown with weeds and riddled with rocks, where Bain would practice swordplay with one of his friends or tutors. An old yet sturdy stone wall would separate this garden from the houses beyond, tall enough so that no one could climb in or out, yet short enough that, from her position on the terrace a few stories up, Sigrid could still see beyond it. There, the people of Dale would go on about their daily life – buying, selling, teaching, learning, eating, sleeping, cooking, working, loving. Living.

Farther still would be the recently rebuilt city wall, for during the battle many of the remaining ramparts had been destroyed. Although there was little concern about attack, guards would patrol day and night, prepared to alert the city if anything were to go on.

Then, beyond the walls. Fields, stones, flowers. Bodies of the dead buried under dirt and time. An old cobblestone road leading from her home in Dale to the fortress of Erebor, and then Erebor itself. The Lonely Mountain, casting an ever-present shadow over her heart. Although it was said to be filled to the brim with treasure, the only gifts the mountain had given her were fire and death.

Sigrid opened her eyes. Ahead of her was darkness. Only darkness. A bell tolled off in the distance.

A dim light from a single lantern lit the terrace around her; footsteps soon followed the light, interrupting Sigrid’s moments of silence. Without turning to see who had invaded her contemplations, Sigrid’s voice filled the darkness. “I’d really prefer to be left alone.”

No response came, except for the sound of heavy boots on the stone of the terrace. Out of the corner of her eye, Sigrid saw a golden-maned figure to her left; it leaned over to place the lantern on the ground between then, lighting the terrace ever-so-slightly. Even with her limited view, she could tell that his braids were doing little to keep his hair tidy in the wind.

In a cold, monotone voice, Sigrid repeated. “I don’t know if you heard me, Master Dwarf, but I’d really prefer to be left alone.” Her jaw was clenched, and her eyes remained focused on the darkness in front of her, not wishing to acknowledge the dwarf prince’s presence any more than necessary.

After a moment, seeming to contemplate his choice of words, the dwarf replied. “I heard you just fine, Lady Sigrid.”

The silence that engulfed the two figures was not a comfortable one but neither made any motion to disrupt it, both fearing that the words to ensue would be even less-so. It seemed almost a stand-off between the two of them, as if there was a competition to determine who was most stubborn; the loser would be the first to speak.

The minutes seemed to turn into hours for Sigrid, as they both stood still, staring into the distance. A stalemate, if anyone were to put a name to it. As much as she didn’t want to be standing there with the dwarven prince beside her, what she wanted less was to be considered a coward, to back down and give in.

Fìli sighed deeply, finally turning slightly toward Sigrid. He mustered all of the princeliness he could and bowed deeply. “You have my apologies for dinner, my lady.”

In response, Sigrid stood stoically, as still and as quiet as the mountain they could not see.

Fìli had expected this reaction, given her cold demeanor for the entirety of the previous week. They’d rarely been in the same room for longer than a minute, and when they were, Sigrid was cold, removing herself from his presence as quickly as she was able. This evening’s dinner was the longest Sigrid had stayed in the same room as either of the dwarves, and Fìli couldn’t have imagined a worse outcome.

The meal had started off well enough; it was the first time that Fìli and Kìli sat together with the entirety of Bard’s family for a meal. For much of the week they’d been in the city, making an effort to see the progress Dale had made since they’d last seen it up-close years before. Many other hours were spent in Bard’s study where they would work toward creating a treaty that met the interests of both dwarves and men. Bain was often invited to spend time in the study to allow him to see _diplomatic relations in action_ , as Bard put it, although Bain rarely had anything himself to add to the discussion.

What Sigrid did during these hours, Fìli did not know, though both he and Kìli were quick to recognize that something was not right between she and her younger sister. Neither acknowledged the presence of the other. It seemed as though nearly everyone was tiptoeing around someone else, leaving the house in a constant state of discomfort.

Even looking back at the dinner, Fìli was unable to pinpoint the exact moment that Bard’s oldest daughter seemed to break. She had been picking at her food all evening, not involving herself in any of the conversations around her – neither that of her sister and Kìli, nor of he, Bard, and Bain. Bard had tried to provoke a response from his daughter, but after realizing that any sort of positive response was unlikely, he had given up.

Conversation was light, drifting from rebuilding efforts to stories about the past to broad hopes for the future. It was when Fìli mentioned the welcome discovery of a mead cellar that first winter, completely untouched by Smaug, that Sigrid was no longer able to contain her frustration.

“Well I’m glad your cellars were full, my Prince, while we out here in Dale were freezing to death,” Sigrid said angrily as she put down her fork and knife. It was the first time she’d talked the entire evening, and conversation around the table stopped abruptly. Even Tilda looked slightly interested, although she tried not to.

Bard raised an eyebrow at his oldest daughter. “Sigrid–”

“It’s okay, my Lord,” Fìli said to Bard. In an attempt to bring the conversation back to the pleasant place it had been in before, Fìli turned to Sigrid. “I’m sorry to say that the winter we experience wasn’t the most agreeable, either.”

Sigrid did not accept this opportunity for peace; her eyes burned full of anger. She wished for nothing more than a challenge after holding her tongue for so long. She’d done what he Da had asked: she stayed quiet, she stayed away from his study, and she stayed away from the dwarves. After all this time, silence was no longer something she was able to maintain. “How many of your people died, Master Dwarf?” Sigrid asked, daring Fìli to answer. “That first winter, after the battle, how many dwarves died because of the cold or a lack of food to go around? How many dwarves were unable to feed or clothe their families? How many were unable to keep their children warm?”

Kìli looked as though he was able to say something, but Fìli quieted him with a touch of his hand. “It was a difficult winter, Lady Sigrid, but we were lucky. We lost no one.”

Bard could see his daughter’s face flush with anger, understanding the pain she felt for her people, but unable to comprehend her inability to move forward. “Sigrid, please–” he begged, taking her hand in his. Tilda and Bain said nothing, simply taking in the scene in front of them with wide eyes and curious ears.

Sigrid pulled her hand away, still staring daggers at Fìli. She rose from her seat and smoothed her green gown. With an unexpected amount of grace and poise, Sigrid pushed in her chair and walked toward the door. She paused in the doorway and turned to the table. Her eyes narrowed toward the golden-haired dwarf as if the rest of the company were invisible. Her voice was flat, nearly affectless. “You know nothing of death.”

As Sigrid left the room, she closed the door behind her, but not before she could hear her father apologizing profusely for her behaviour.

 

* * *

 

On the terrace, Sigrid finally spoke. None of the malice that had previously been contained her voice was present; her eyes filled with tears, no longer focused on anything outside of herself. “I held a child in my arms. He was no more than two years old. A mother brought him to me, hoping that because I’d helped to heal the wounded after the battle I could help him. He could barely breathe. He couldn’t get warm, no matter how many blankets we wrapped him in or how long he sat in front of the fire. He died in my arms.”

Still, she wouldn’t cry.

Fìli looked toward Erebor, his home, his mountain, his kingdom, the one he and his kin had fought for. The one he had _earned_. “You’re nothing like that girl I met in Lake-Town those years ago. The one who laughed at the dwarves coming out of her toilet, or the one who made us tea and biscuits. The one who took my brother and I into her home when he was dying and we had nowhere else to go.”

Sigrid sighed, as if thinking that girl was nothing but young and naïve. “Because, master dwarf, I’m no longer anything like that girl. Death and destruction tends to do that to a person.”

“Tilda seems to have made it through just fine,” Fìli responded without thinking. The moment those words left his mouth, though, he wished he could take them back. He closed his eyes, expecting a flurry of words as angry as the wind to come from the tall, slim figure to his right.

Sigrid recoiled at his words, closing her eyes in an attempt to blind herself from the truth of what the dwarf had said. The words went through her like a knife: _Tilda seems to have made it through just fine_. Sigrid understood immediately the hidden meaning. Tilda had made it through just fine. She had not.

The barrage that Fìli expected didn’t come. Slowly he turned his head slightly to get a better look at the woman standing next to him. Her eyes were closed, tears clutching to her eyelashes, loose hair whipping around her head in the wind. Her arms were crossed, wrapped tightly around herself as if in a hug – to protect herself from the cold or the pain, he wasn’t entirely sure. Her jaw was unclenched, her face relaxed.

He had been upset before he came out to the terrace: upset that Sigrid could not accept their desire for peace, upset that she did nothing but ignore them. In Lake-Town, Fìli had felt a connection to the young girl, recognizing their similarities in their roles as the oldest sibling, the protector, the immovable mountain, and the pressure they both felt to be strong. He’d liked her; they’d gotten along. They’d understood each other. He’d seen none of that since his recent arrival to Dale, but he saw it now. He saw the pain he felt on her face and in the heaviness on her shoulders. He saw the failed expectations of strength and an inability to let go of the past. Fìli felt, in that moment, that he understood the woman beside him.

Fìli opened his mouth to speak, not entirely sure of what he was going to say but wishing to say it anyway, only to be pre-emptively interrupted by a surprisingly soft, even voice. “It would probably be better if you left me alone now, master dwarf.”

Without question or comment, recognizing that somehow they’d created a fragile truce, Fìli turned and returned to the house, leaving Sigrid where he’d found her: staring off into the distance, gown blowing in the wind; broken and damaged, just like him. At least now, though, he left her the light.


	6. Colour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Tilda and Kíli figure some things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone, sorry for the delay in posting this chapter. I've had some really not great family drama going on recently, and it's making things rather difficult. I don't think it'll end soon, unfortunately, but I'm trying to get a handle on life and going forward. Hopefully there won't be this long of a wait until the next chapter!

Tilda dropped her shoulders and lifted the bow with her left arm; three of her fingers wrapped around the string and pulled back. Her breath slowed as her eyes looked toward the target in front of her. She let go of the string and held the bow in place, watching the arrow sail beyond the target and burying itself in the rose bushes lining the garden wall. 

“You’re having a rough day, lass,” she heard Kíli laugh from her right, just out of her view. Sighing deeply in frustration Tilda let her arms fall to her sides, putting her hands on her hips and turning toward her friend.

“You know it ain’t nice to laugh at someone’s failures, right?” she asked, moodily shifting her weight from one foot to the other. At thirteen years old, Tilda had just recently gone through a growth spurt and was all arms and legs and angst; at this rate, it was generally assumed that she’d grow to be taller than her sister, although likely with considerably less poise and delicacy. Tilda enjoyed confirming this common line of thinking with activities like archery and sword fighting instead of attending to her more lady-like duties of needlepoint or learning how to run a household. Although her Da generally liked her to at least make an effort to be a lady, the moment he left the house for the day Tilda would quickly change out of the dress she was expected to wear into an old outfit of Bain’s.

“That’s the third time in a row you’ve missed the target,” Kíli said lightheartedly as he walked toward Tilda, ready to take the bow from her to end the day’s practice. “I don’t even think you missed so horribly the first day you picked up a bow.”

Tilda huffed and handed over the bow, glad to be rid of it for the day. She enjoyed her training time with Kíli, but, as he’d pointed out, today just wasn’t her day. She sat, arms crossed on an old stone bench as Kíli took her place in their makeshift archery range. He prepared the bow, aimed, and fired at the target, hitting right where he’d meant to.

“Now you’re just rubbing it in,” Tilda complained, rolling her eyes in the process.

Kíli glanced over at the girl in boy’s clothing, shooting another arrow as he did so. It hit its mark. “And you’re just being a poor sport,” he teased.

Thoroughly unimpressed with the entire situation, Tilda just glared as her friend retrieved the arrows he’d lodged in the target. 

“What’s wrong, Tilda?” Kíli asked, his voice laced with concern. Knowing that Tilda didn’t like to be put on the spot, nor did she particularly enjoy talking about her feelings, Kíli absentmindedly continued shooting arrows. “And don’t you tell me there’s nothing wrong because I know that’s a lie. You’ve been off all afternoon.”

Tilda looked down at her hands sitting on her lap and picked at the dirt underneath of her nails. “Sigrid,” she whispered, not quite loud enough for Kíli to hear.

Kíli stopped loading the arrow into the bow and leaned slightly towards Tilda so he could hear better. “What’s that?”

Annoyed with Kíli for not hearing her the first time and annoyed with herself for having to repeat what she’d said, Tilda raised her voice a little louder than she probably should’ve, sounding a little angrier than she probably was. “It’s _Sigrid_."

When Kíli said nothing in reply, Tilda looked up from her nails expectantly, seeing Kíli making a ‘go on’ motion with his hand. When he knew she’d seen him, he turned back toward the target.

“She’s been home a month and a half and she hasn’t tried to talk to me even once since the first night,” Tilda whined, her eyes staring off into the distance.

Kíli’s head turned slowly, eyes filled with incredulity. “You mean that night that you told me about, where you got up from the table, knocked over a chair, and slammed multiple doors?”

Tilda nodded. “Yeah, that one.”

Kíli put down the bow he’d been holding and walked over to the bench and sat down near Tilda. “Don’t you made it rather obvious that you didn’t want to talk to her?”

“I know, but–”

“She’s bought you some trinkets here and there from the market, hasn’t she?”

“Yeah, girly things that ain’t got a need for. But–”

“Have you thanked her?”

The question took Tilda by surprise. “Well no, I’ve barely spent any time in the same room as her, and she bought me things I don’t even _want_ –”

“And you’re wondering why she hasn’t spoken to you?” Kíli asked, prodding Tilda into seeing what he was seeing.

“Well I know _why_ she hasn’t, but she _should_. She’s the one who’s done something wrong, and she hasn’t even bothered to apologise _once_ ,” proclaimed Tilda as her gaze went back down to her nails.

Kíli wasn’t unsympathetic toward Tilda – he understood her hurt and her anger – but he had to admit, he was getting rather annoyed with the climate of the house. He and Fíli had been there for nearly two weeks and it felt as though they’d been there for years with the amount of tip-toeing around; it just made everything so _difficult_. Kíli thought that maybe, if he was able to push Tilda into talking to her sister, then at least one feud could be over soon. “Don’t you think, Tilda,” Kíli started slowly, softly. “That your sister might have a reason for behaving in the way she did?”

At this, Tilda’s head snapped up and there was fire in her eyes. “It don’t matter if she had reason, Master Dwarf,” she said, her voice even and filled with venom. “She broke her promise, something she said she’d never do. How’d’you think you’d feel if Fíli did that to you – just left one day, saying that he’d send word so you could visit wherever it was that he existed, and then sending letter after letter with no intention of ever having you go?”

Kíli considered for a moment and chose his words carefully. “It would hurt and I would be upset–”

Tilda felt victorious. “See?”

“ _But_ ,” Kíli continued. “I also know my brother well enough to know that if he did something like that that there would likely be an awfully good reason.”

“But you two are also like two hundred years old,” – Tilda rolled her eyes – “so you’ve had _centuries_ to know each other. I’ve only had thirteen years with Sig.”

Kíli smiled and looked at the girl sitting next to him. He often forgot how young she was, often seeming well beyond her thirteen years. Had Tilda looked up at this moment, she would’ve seen a lopsided smile on the dwarf’s face. “Well we’re not quite that old. But has Sigrid done anything before this to earn your disdain.”

Tilda pursed her lips in concentrated and looked up toward the sunny blue sky. “No, I guess not. Ma died when I was just a babe and Sig raised me my whole life.”

“Do you think, then, that maybe she has a reason for breaking her promise?” Kíli asked. He and Tilda had quickly become friends upon his arrival in Dale two weeks earlier, and he felt a certain kinship toward the young girl. Maybe it was that she’d helped to save him years earlier, or maybe it was that her spirit reminded him a lot of himself when he’d been younger. Whatever it was that brought him to her, it tugged strongly on his heartstrings at that particular moment. For the first time, she looked broken. Tilda sat on the bench, her back hunched and her head back down. Her hands were white from gripping each other so tightly. She looked nearly ready to cry, as though she was holding in a year’s worth of sadness, but at the same time, she appeared determined to remain strong.

In a voice nearly too quiet for even herself to hear, Tilda replied. “Maybe.”  

Kíli smiled softly. “Yeah.”

“But it still hurts,” Tilda said as she lifted her head and looked at the dark-haired dwarf beside her.

“It’s allowed to,” Kíli assured her. “But at some point you need to move forward.”

Tilda sighed dramatically, knowing what Kíli’s answer to her question would be. “How do I do that?”

“Talk to your sister.”

“Ugh, I know.” Tilda’s head lolled to the side and landed on Kíli’s leather-clad shoulder, she rested it there for a moment, digesting the conversation they’d just had. Although she remained upset, something within her felt lighter. She cracked a small smile. “How do you know all these things? You’re so wise.”

With her head still resting on his shoulder, Tilda could feel the vibrations of Kíli’s laughter. “Well I am like two hundred years old, remember.”

And for the first time all afternoon, Tilda felt like she could laugh too.

 

* * *

 

The following afternoon found Kíli and Tilda in the same place with Tilda much more able to hit the target than she had been the day before. He stood a good distance away, arms crossed, intently watching Tilda’s form from afar. Her back was too hunched and her right arm – the one that pulled back the string – needed to come back more straight; it was evident that in the short time they’d been practicing together. Not wanting to reopen the conversation they’d had yesterday but curious nonetheless, Kíli made a nonchalant effort to inquire into whether or not Tilda had spoken to her sister.

“Nope,” Tilda replied, letting off an arrow and hitting the target slightly off-centre. “Maybe soon.” Feeling as though she’d gotten all of her feelings out the previous day, she quickly changed the topic of conversation. “I overheard Da and Sigrid talking this morning.” Another arrow, this time too far to the left of the bull’s eye. “Tauriel will be coming soon?”

Kíli’s eyes lit up at the mention of the elf maiden. “Yes, likely today or tomorrow.”

After a moment of silent consideration, Tilda asked a question – one that she’d been interested in asking for a while, but one where the opportune time hadn’t come up. Although a number of years ago, Tilda remembered their interactions in her house, as Tauriel was healing Kíli’s wound, and then afterwards, on the beach. “Do you love her?”

Kíli shifted, crossing his arms more tightly, caught off-guard by the question. “Why do you ask that?”

“Well,” Tilda started, as she pranced over to the target to gather her arrows. “Whenever anyone mentions her name you get this kind of look on your face and your eyes glass over and you have this stupid sort of smile. I ain’t never seen that look on anyone else’s face – maybe Da had it sometimes when Ma was alive, but I wouldn’t know. And Sigrid sure has never looked like that, her jaw’s always clenched and she’s looked so unhappy for so many years, I don’t think her mouth even knows how to make that smile.” Tilda shrugged as she got arrived back at the line Kíli had drawn in the dirt. “I dunno. So do you?”

Kíli couldn’t help but laugh at her explanation. “Yes, Tilda. I do.”

“Does she love you?” Tilda knew that some would see her questions as impetuous, but she was genuinely curious and Kíli _was_ her friend after all.

“I’d like to think so,” Kíli replied. He walked over to Tilda, who had just pulled back, ready to shoot yet again; with his hands on either side of her head, he guided her head slowly, resting her nose on the string. “If you keep your nose on the string when you pull back, you’ll find there’s more stability in your shot.” He removed his hands, and Tilda left her nose touching the string. She shot the arrow and missed the target entirely. Tilda, unimpressed with that shot, glared as his back as he walked back to his place at the side of the yard.

“Why don’t you get married?” She asked, taking aim – nose against the string.

Kíli sighed and crossed his arms again. “It’s not so simple.” He didn’t feel up to explaining the complexities of current dwarf-elf politics, nor did he wish to explain his uncle’s strict “no Tauriel” policy. To his relief, this answer seemed to satisfy Tilda for the moment.

A blanket of silence fell over the yard before Tilda asked her next question. “What’s love like?”

“What’s love like?” Kíli repeated, his hand coming up to his face where it stroked his beard in contemplation. It wasn’t a question that one often had to answer, so he started slowly. “It’s different than the kind of love you feel for your family. It can come at you little by little or all at once.

“It’s like everything in your life before you met the one you’re in love with was black and white, but you didn’t notice; you thought you were seeing in colour, but when they come along it’s as if everything looks brighter and more beautiful. They take every piece of your soul and colour it in, making those dark parts – the parts you don’t like to show anyone else because maybe they’re not quite as nice as the others – just as beautiful as the rest of you. People will sometimes say that in their soul mates they find a piece of themselves, but the way I see it is that that piece was there all along, the one you love and who loves you just allows it to show itself.”

Tilda dropped her hands to her side, still clutching the bow. Her eyes darted around the garden as if trying to see how things could ever be brighter or more beautiful than they already were. After a few moments, her gaze rested on Kíli who himself was staring off into the distance as if he were somewhere else. When Tilda spoke, though, the spell was lifted and he was back in the garden. “I want to have that one day.”

Kíli walked toward Tilda – who was now taller than he – and threw his arm over her shoulder. He took the bow from her as they walked to the shed to tidy up. “Well that’s the good think about being young. You’ve got plenty of time.”

 

* * *

 

Tilda closed her bedroom door after her and she was able to breathe a sigh of relief. Dinner was over, the company was gone, and she was able to spend some time alone before going to bed. Over the past few days, her father and Fíli had been meeting with business owners and stakeholders in Dale to gather a comprehensive list of things that still needed to be fixed within the city in order to determine what Erebor could offer by ways of help; they’d invited some of her Da’s close friends back afterwards for a small gathering, and all of the talk about politics and change and restoration was all very boring and tedious.

She’d spent much of the night with Kíli and Bain, but even then they were sometimes taken away to be involved in discussions. Sigrid seemed happy to involve herself in conversation with the men of Dale, but, as usual, had very little interest in conversing with the dwarves. At least, Tilda noted, there were no embarrassing outbursts that evening.

Tilda walked over to her bed and reached underneath her mattress. She pulled out a small leather book, a journal, and sat down on her bed, feet dangling as she turned the book over in her hands. Tilda didn’t move to open it, she simply stared at the front cover, then the back, then the front again. So entranced was she by the journal that she didn’t hear the knock on her door, and by the time she realized someone else was in her room, she had no time to hide it.

“What’s that you have?” a voice asked from the doorway.

Tilda immediately dropped the book beside her on the bed and leapt up. “Tauriel!” she cried, running to her friend who gathered her into the biggest hug Tilda felt that she’d had in a year. Still clutching to Tauriel’s waist, Tilda muttered, “I’m so happy you’re here.” Realizing that she’d been in the hug for quite a long time, Tilda stepped back with a huge grin on her face.

“You’ve grown so much,” Tauriel proclaimed as she reached out and smoothed Tilda’s hair. “And what a beautiful dress.”

In classic Tilda fashion, she shrugged in response. “It’s okay, I guess.”

Recognizing the book lying on the bed, Tauriel walked over and made a move to pick it up. Tilda snatched it up first, quickly denying that it was anything important.

“I know what that is, Tilda,” Tauriel said as she reached her hand out expectantly.

Although she didn’t want to be in trouble within the first two minutes of seeing Tauriel again, Tilda handed over the book and looked down in shame. “It’s Sigrid’s.”

Tauriel took the book in one hand and grabbed Tilda’s cold, clammy hand in the other, leading her to sit on the bed. After Tilda sat, Tauriel took a place next to her. “Why do you have this?”

Tilda’s response was filled with shame. “Sig went to see the dressmaker last night and I was curious, so I went to her room and found it under her mattress. It’s where she used to always hide things she didn’t want me to find.” Tilda looked up at Tauriel, wide eyed. “I didn’t read it, I promise. I haven’t even opened it.”

Tauriel gave the girl a reassuring smile and squeezed her hand tightly. “It’s okay, Tilda. But you should really put it back.”

“I just –” Tilda began, trying to find the words. “I just wanted to understand.” Tilda searched Tauriel’s eyes for forgiveness and when she saw it there, all of the tears she’d been holding in seemed to want to escape at once. Tilda brought her legs up to her chest and curled into the smallest ball she could, he head resting in her friend’s lap. Tauriel ran her fingers through Tilda’s hair, saying nothing, just allowing her to cry.

After the sobs subsided and her tears were mostly done falling, Tilda’s hoarse voice broke the silence. “I’ll give it back tomorrow.”

Although Tilda couldn’t see, Tauriel smiled. “Good.”

 


	7. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherin Sigrid falls asleep outside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Panic attacks suck (there's the description of one in this chapter, fyi just in case)

_“Come on Tilda, two more pages and we can be done for today,” Sigrid whined as her youger sister threw her head back in boredom._

_"_ _But Sig, I told Iona I’d see ‘er before lunch and it’s gettin’ to lunch time and I want to_ play, _” a nine-year-old Tilda whined in return._

_Sigrid sighed in annoyance. “Well if you’d woken up on time and did your chores on time and started doing your work on time then you’d be on time to play with Iona.”_

_At that moment, Bard walked into the room and was immediately bombarded with his youngest child’s complaints. “Da, Sigrid’s being mean and won’t let me go play. You_ promised _could visit Iona today.”_

_Before walking over to the table where his daughters sat, Bard put down the empty net he held in his hands. “Are you done your lessons for today, Tilda?” he asked while looking over her shoulder and looking down at the book lying in front of her on the table._

_“Well no,” Tilda responded, making a show of looking appropriately regretful. “But Da, it’s Iona’s birthday today an’ I want to goooo. I can finish later, I promise.”_

_S_ _igrid huffed and crossed her arms, staring expectantly at her father. While she knew that Tilda would do nearly anything to get out of her lessons, Bard – as all parents seemed to with their youngest children – had difficulty saying no to Tilda’s round cheeks and sad eyes. “Well if you promise to do the rest this evening –”_

_Without even allowing Bard to finish his sentence, Tilda jumped up happily from her chair and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Thank you, thank you, thank you Da!” Out of the corner of her eye, Tilda could just make out the unimpressed look on Sigrid’s face; Tilda couldn’t help but send a smug look toward her sister before running to their shared bedroom to find the gift she’d been working on making for Iona._

_As soon as Tilda left the room, Bard looked toward his other daughter whose unimpressed look was now focused on him. “Sigrid, you know she deserves this time to spend with her friends,” he explained. With a reassuring smile he reached his hand out and rubbed Sigrid’s shoulder in a show of comfort before sitting in the chair that Tilda had just vacated._

_With a sigh, Sigrid responded, “it’s okay, Da.” Had Sigrid wanted to be entirely truthful, she could’ve mentioned that it would be nice for her to have time to see her friends as well – or the few that she still had due to the fact that she had their home to take care of in the absence of her mother. She could’ve also pointed out that Tilda was slightly spoiled and Sigrid believed that a good ‘no’ here or there would be good for her. Finally, she also could’ve brought up the fact that, all in all, she was just a tiny bit jealous of her younger sister’s freedom; what Sigrid wouldn’t have done for a day where she could be as wild and free as she’d like, she didn’t know._

_It’s not to say that Sigrid didn’t like being in charge – it was in her nature to want to take control whenever she could – but that she’d become the matriarch of her family at the age of 8 when their mother passed away. She’d never gotten the freedom that Tilda was allowed, and she found that one some days, it really grated on her._

_Tilda came skipping out of her room, a small white thing in her hand. “Look, Sig! I did what you showed me!” She held out what looked to be a hybrid of a bear and a rabbit that she’d obviously sewn entirely on her own with scraps from Sigrid’s sewing kit._

_Although it was rough, Sigrid couldn’t help be admire her sister’s enthusiasm and resourcefulness; the bear-rabbit even had a sort of dress! Sigrid reached out to take the bear-rabbit into her hands for a closer inspection, but the moment she touched it, she experienced an unexpected flash of emotion that caused her to drop the animal._

_Time didn’t stop, but to Sigrid, it felt as if it had. In the moment between touching the bear-rabbit and dropping it, it was as if some entity – some_ thing _– had spoken to her; Sigrid knew right then that Tilda wasn’t going to come home. She was going to walk out the door and something was going to happen and she was going to die._

_Sigrid also knew that she was unable to say anything – not to Tilda, not to Bard. Everything had to be exactly as it was, exactly as it would be if Tilda was leaving on a normal day. Sigrid couldn’t cry, she couldn’t hug her sister any tighter than she normally did. How she knew this, though, she didn’t understand. She just knew and it killed her inside._

_As if in slow motion, Sigrid watched Tilda – smiling – pick up the bear-rabbit from the floor and brush her off. Tilda quickly hugged her sister and before Sigrid was even able to react, she was out the door and on her way to see Iona._

_Sigrid wanted to scream. She wanted to yell. She wanted to run after Tilda and gather her up in her arms, but some force beyond her wouldn’t let the words past her throat. Her breathing sped up and then almost stopped; her heart beat quickened and her throat tightened as though her own body was intent on choking her. Invisible fingers laced themselves around her throat making each laboured breath more impossible than the last. She was frozen to the spot, desperately wanting to flee, wanting to save her sister, but entirely unable to do either._

_Tilda was going to die and she couldn’t do anything. Hopeless, useless, helpless Sigrid. Hopeless, useless, helpless. Hopeless. Useless. Helpless._

A strangled sob echoed in the quite morning silence as Sigrid struggled to catch her breath. Her eyes flew open and her arms flailed, trying desperately to find something solid to hang on to. Her hands brought themselves to her hair, scratching, clawing, frantically trying to will her to breathe.

Unable to focus on the world around her, Sigrid slammed her eyes shut; the more she tried to convince herself to breathe, the more the breaths wouldn’t come. The invisible hands around her throat seemed to have morphed into a solid weight pressing down on her chest. No matter how hard she tried, her lungs couldn’t inflate.

Hands – real hands, Sigrid was able to acknowledge – wrapped themselves around her wrists, gently moving them from her face and down to her sides. Whoever those hands belonged to sat down beside her. Somewhere in the distance she could hear a soft voice telling her to breathe and all she wanted to do was yell that she was trying but like her breath, the words wouldn’t come. The stranger’s hands remained on her wrists, keeping them from moving back to her hair; Sigrid struggled to breathe, struggled to move, struggled to exist, but the hands held fast.

“Sigrid,” the voice said, this time more harshly. “I need you to breathe.”

Sigrid shook her head – not to indicate that she wouldn’t, but that she couldn’t.

“One breath, Sigrid. Breathe in with me, okay? On three,” the voice instructed. “One.” Sigrid closed her eyes more tightly. She just knew that she would never breathe again. “Two.” She was going to die right here, wherever right here happened to be. “Three”

With all of the effort she could muster Sigrid gasped, letting air flow into her empty lungs.

The voice spoke again. “Good, Sigrid. Now let it out.”

Sigrid did as she was told, and the weight on her chest seemed to lift slightly.

“One more time. In and out.”

This time breathing seemed a bit easier. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale… exhale. Inhale, exhale. As Sigrid’s breath became more even, she felt the pressure on her wrists disappear. Although her eyes were still closed the world came in clearer; she could hear the sound of birds gathering in the trees, the soft jingle of the wind chimes hanging behind her. She was outside, she realized. On the terrace. Sigrid remembered then, being unable to fall asleep, coming to the terrace to get some fresh air and look at the stars, lying in the chaise lounge; she must’ve fallen asleep without realizing it.

“Sigrid?”

Sigrid knew that voice. She didn’t want to open her eyes, for if she did she knew she’d be opening them to the concerned face of the last person she ever wanted to see – especially in a situation such as this. Why couldn’t it have been her father? Brother? Maybe not Tilda since Tilda probably would’ve just left her there to suffer, but even Tilda? Why did it have to be  _him_ ?

“Are you okay now?”  He asked softly, his voice was full of worry.

Taking one last deep breath, Sigrid opened her eyes. She was right. There was the dwarf prince, blond hair made even more vibrant by the morning sun, sitting next to her. Fíli opened his mouth to say something else, but Sigrid spoke first. “Thank you,” she said quietly, her eyes shifting from his face to his hands – the ones now clutched together in his lap, but also the ones that had been holding her down only moments before.

Suddenly noticing their closeness, Fíli jumped up from the chaise and stepped back. He simply nodded in response, not quite knowing what else to say.

Sigrid’s wits were slowly returning to her, making her aware of her embarrassment – being found sleeping outside, having that unexpected attack, and then coming around to find her least favourite person sitting beside her. She sat up quickly, swinging her legs over the edge of the chaise in order to stand up. Fíli remained silent, simply watching the woman in front of him for signs of further distress.

Without looking back, Sigrid walked toward the door; before she could put the whole situation behind, her, however, Fíli called her name. Although she didn’t want to, Sigrid turned around to see what it was he wanted – it was really the least she could do since he  _had_ sat with her and helped her through the attack. In his hands he held a small leather book. “You must have dropped this,” he said, holding it out so Sigrid could take it. She didn’t remember bringing a book outside with her but the night had been a rough one, it was very likely that she was just being forgetful. Her hand brushed his as she clutched the book, nearly ripping it from him at the touch.

She backed up slowly, feeling for the doorway with her free hand. She found the door, but instead of turning to leave in silence, she spoke. “I’d appreciate it if you could tell no one about this, my lord.”

Fíli stood still. “Of course, my lady.”

With the confirmation that all would be forgotten, Sigrid turned on her heel and walked through the door as if nothing had happened. On the terrace, Fíli didn’t move. He hadn’t dared ask Sigrid what she’d been dreaming about or what had brought on the attack, but he couldn’t help but feel for the young woman.

Not knowing what else to do, Fíli took his pipe out of his pocket and walked over to the railing, the barrier that kept in separate from the drop on the other side. He lit the pipe and leaned against it, looking out towards Erebor, coloured red by the sunrise. He’d woken up early and come to the terrace to have some time to reflect before getting to the day’s business, but he instead found Sigrid. Fíli knew that they had significantly more in common than she would ever be willing to admit; he now, more than ever, found himself wishing she would do more than glare daggers at him over the dinner table. Maybe after today, he thought, she would.

Fíli inhaled deeply, holding the smoke from his pipe in his mouth. He carefully exhaled, forcing the smoke into a ring. His tense shoulders relaxed. Having heard from Thorin the previous day, Fíli knew that he only had a little more than a week left in Dale; Thorin was expected to visit in time for the late spring festival where he and Bard would announce the details of their treaty. The people of Dale had been preparing for the festival since he and Kíli had arrived and while he was looking forward to the celebrations, Fíli found that he’d grown fond of the city and wasn’t eager to return to Erebor. After the festival, though, Fíli and Kíli had little reason to stay behind and would almost certainly be required to leave with Thorin.

Little by little the dwarves were winning over Dale, but Fíli was regretful that they’d been as of yet unable to win over Bard’s eldest daughter. He felt it to be a shame to leave without earning at least some favour from the Lady Sigrid, for Dale loved her and if she were known to be against the dwarves, it could be guaranteed that some people would be against them as well. This is what Fíli told himself, anyway, when he felt a nagging need to get to know the young woman. It was all political, the voice in his brain said; the voice in his heart, however, said otherwise.


End file.
